Tuesday, June 20, 2017

FOR THIS HEBREW: Elia Casillas

Fetter of my fundamentals

How to exclude it

Flight in my oven

And in its atmosphere of scorpions.

Will I always be a heart chained?
Is there a miracle thread for this wound?
Why did God not know me when I saw him?

I can not look at the stars,

His words are buried

In this subversive fire,

And in the theater of thoughts

Bounce with your armchairs,

As orphaned as the water that revives us

In its caiman oasis.

I'm going to immerse myself in the world's flour

I want to lose sight of the boats

And paper cherry,

     I am that wind that the cloud bewitches

And I will not hide,

His hands are more stubborn than ever,

Bark, babosean,

Break this habit of dying

And live on this blue moon

That sensually fills us

Of carnage madness.

The tranquility addresses its murky canutillo

And there are no fasts,

In hell there are also celestial angels

  And temples are devils,

Chronic demons.

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